


Tell You What (you're gonna do)

by Giddygeek



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Imported, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giddygeek/pseuds/Giddygeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is still grinning when he says, "I'm a SEAL," and pushes them both off the cliff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell You What (you're gonna do)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to lj in 2010. Thanks to MissPamela for beta!

"Life or death, Danno," Steve says. He's panting, he's bleeding, he's not wearing a shirt, and he's grinning; must be Tuesday, Danny thinks wildly. This crazy shit always happens on Tuesdays. "You think you can do it?"

"Listen, okay," Danny jabs a finger at Steve, "I have told you I can do this, haven't I told you I can do this? Like, haven't I told you _fifty times_ that I can do this?"

A bullet whistles past him, too close, and he flinches. Flinching pushes him right up against Steve. Pushing right up against Steve is like pushing right up against a wall, except for how usually a wall doesn't smell like blood and salt water, and how usually a wall doesn't put a hand on a guy's back and sort of swivel them around like it's gonna take a bullet for him.

"Oh no you don't," Danny shouts, because that is the thing, that is just the _thing_ that makes him go _fucking insane_ , "You do not get to do that, you don't get to be that guy! Who made you that guy!" and he takes a step back, another one, pulling Steve with him while more bullets whiz around them, so close, too close.

"I'm not that guy," Steve protests, and the stupid-ass motherfucker is still grinning like this is fun, a game, a lark, _Tuesday_. He takes another step forward, moving Danny with him. He spins Danny around and squeezes his shoulders, leans down. Danny can feel Steve's breath on his neck, lips brush his ear; Steve is still grinning when he says, "I'm a _SEAL_ ," and pushes them both off the cliff.

~~~

It's stupid, but it works. They're out of the line of fire, at least, and the ocean is more likely to be on their side than seven guys with a _million_ automatic weapons are, anyway.

Danny fights the waves and surfaces with a gasp. Steve comes up with him, too close for it to be a coincidence. The stupid bastard was probably ready to come up almost as soon as he hit the water, but stayed under to keep an eye on Danny. It's the kind of thing he'd do. Danny's probably just lucky he didn't get hauled to the surface like a damsel in distress.

"Over here," Steve says, and he's swimming smooth and strong despite the waves, heading for the base of the cliff like that's a good idea. Danny eyes the water breaking against the rocks and honestly this is the _worst_ idea, but maybe also the only idea they've got. He follows, not as smooth, not as strong, but he can more than hold his own, thank you very fucking much.

_Here_ is a rocky outcropping. Steve is underneath, braced against the rock like he's not being pushed in all directions by the water. The space he's left open for Danny is in front of him, with Steve between him and the open ocean. Danny hates him, honestly.

He wedges himself in and gets his breath back. Steve eyes him, nods approvingly. He isn't even out of breath, the bastard.

"And now what do we do?" Danny asks, when his lungs feel like they're back in the right place. "We wait? Or we start scaling this cliff like Everest, fling ourselves over the top, and take the bad guys _totally_ by surprise because they'd never see _that_ coming?"

"We wait," Steve says, calm. "Kono and Chin were almost there--they've got it under control."

Danny wants to put his head in his hands, but doesn't want to get swept out to sea; the life choices he's had to make since McGarrett decided to partner up with him are not life choices he's ever had to make before. "So what," he says, slow and careful, as if he is trying to understand, which he isn't really--there is absolutely no understanding what makes Steve tick tick _boom_. "So, was it actually your plan to sort of just get herded off the cliff like lemmings, and leave Kono and Chin to clean up the mess?"

"Not exactly." Steve shrugs, then casually shifts his weight around, like it's no effort at all to stay pressed close to the cliff face.

"Not exactly? Oh, okay, so if that wasn't the plan, if that terrible plan was _not_ the plan--" Danny jabs Steve's thigh with his knee; totally accidental. "If that wasn't the plan, _Commander_ , then what was the plan?"

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't move back, the way a man with a reasonable sense of self-preservation would do when Danny started in with the violence. "The plan was, confessions, and then a quiet, orderly arrest," he says patiently. "But the backup plan--"

"Was jumping off a cliff and waiting for Kono and Chin to come to the rescue."

"Pretty much, yeah," Steve says, and it's his clear-eyed, patient acceptance that Kono and Chin would come to the rescue, that there would be enough pieces of them left to rescue, that actually manages to defuse the slightly more than simmering rage Danny was building up.

This is why Danny can't really hate him. How can you hate a guy who takes one look at you and decides you can handle yourself, watch his back and do your job? How can you hate a guy who he decides he'd throw himself off a cliff for you, or take a bullet for you, or rent you a room at a hotel where you can take a little girl to swim with the dolphins and have the time of her life? You can't hate that guy. It'd be a fucking crime to hate that guy, and Danny's always been on the right side of the law.

Doesn't mean he can't give Steve some shit, though. "You know," he says, "this morning I woke up, and I got dressed--"

"How many ties did you try on before you found the right one?" Steve asks him, serious, deadpan, eyes gleaming.

"I tried on two ties. I did not pick the good one, because it's Tuesday, and I know how you are on Tuesdays--"

Steve tilts his head, looks interested. "How am I on Tuesdays?"

"Bored," Danny says. "You're bored on Tuesdays. It's not the weekend, it's not Monday, it's not halfway through the week, it's not Friday eve; you're always bored. You look for trouble. You _find_ trouble. On Tuesdays, you are a menace. So I put on the second-best tie and headed for the office--"

"I liked that tie, actually," Steve says. "It made your eyes look nice."

Danny sighs. He works his fingers deeper into the crack between the rocks, he wedges his knee in more firmly. The water is warm, and they're not getting pushed around too bad, and his adrenaline is still up, but he's starting to feel some muscle aches, and Steve is being entirely sincere. Danny doesn't have the reserves to deal with this.

"Thank you," he says. "I appreciate that; my self-esteem is a little low, you know how it goes. Anyway, I head for the office, and I'm not even drinking your admittedly excellent coffee before you're hustling me out the door all, 'Drug runners! Guns! Maybe some explosive devices! Yay, Tuesday!' and now here I am. Uncaffeinated, without the tie that makes my eyes look nice, and clinging like a starfish to a cliff, in hopes of having my teammates take out some bad guys so that I can get them extra time in jail for attempted murder of me and my partner. My partner who pretty much set them up for the attempted murder, who is _pretty much_ a walking plea bargain for entrapment, and do you know what the worst part is, Steve? Do you?"

"What's the worst part, Danno?" Steve asks, and he's enjoying this, he loves this, he's _still grinning_.

"You're going to make _me_ book 'em," Danny says.

Steve fucking beams at him. "I am," he says. "I love making you book 'em, Danno. You whine so sweet about it."

"Paperwork, Steve. _Your_ paperwork. All that, and it isn't even _lunch_ yet," and Danny's glaring, Steve's laughing, like all's well that ends well.

And there's Chin with a boat; whose boat, Danny doesn't know, but whatever, fuck that, because Chin's boat has a ladder and a blanket, and Chin, who is grinning huge; really, all's well.

~~~

Danny books 'em. He showers off the salt water, changes into his spare set of clothes, does the paperwork, writes up his report, eats the sandwich that appears on his desk as if by SEAL stealth maneuvers. He's a little scratched up, a little bruised, a lot sore; it's been a while since he went for a nice little dip in the ocean, and he's definitely feeling it.

Steve's wandering around with a dashing little cut over his eye, wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and gray cargo pants like that's a professional wardrobe, eating everything he can get his hands on, except Danny's sandwich. He has an enormous bruise blossoming on one of his biceps, stretching up into his tattoo.

After Danny finishes his paperwork, he leans back in his chair, arms behind his head, and blanks out a little. He keeps his eyes on Steve because that's what you do, you watch the shark swim.

He knows the whole time that Steve is watching him. That's what Steve does. But it's not until Chin says, "Uh, guys? You maybe want to take this staring contest elsewhere?" that he realizes that watching each other is _all_ they're doing.

"Good idea," Steve says, not looking away.

"My boss is kind of a hardass," Danny says. "I dunno, I think maybe I'll finish doing his paperwork; you think I should finish doing his paperwork?"

Steve grins at him and takes a couple steps forward, all slouch, hands in pockets, dark eyes. "I think you're done." He looms over Danny's desk and Danny tips back further in his chair to keep his eyes on Steve's.

"The governor, now, she's even more of a hardass than my boss," Danny gestures with both hands; the governor, her tough goes all the way up to _here_. "She might have a problem with it, me leaving all this work for tomorrow."

"Carte blanche," Steve reminds him. "Immunity. Special powers. I've got 'em, she gave 'em to me, and I say you're done. So you're done. Close it down."

Danny snorts at him. "Immunity, special powers, superhero boy--what's next, a cape? Tights. You could work the tights. Maybe in a nice, stripey, piratey kind of pattern, what do you think?"

"I think it's time to go," Steve says, and yeah, okay, Danny likes to give him shit, Danny knows Steve likes getting sassed and being challenged and unleashing the power of his deadpan sarcasm on someone who'll come right back at him.

Steve also likes getting his way, and he has just the right combination of voice and physical presence to do it. Danny knows Steve knows that; they both know when Steve's using it, and it _works anyway_. Danny saves his work. He powers down his station. He stands and grabs his suit coat, throws it over his shoulder. Steve watches him, unmoving, and Danny says, "You ready to go, princess, or do you need an engraved invitation?"

Steve smiles at him, reaches out and lightly touches Danny's back. Danny watches his eyes, and doesn't move. "I got one," Steve says, and yeah, okay, maybe. Probably, yeah.

~~~

In the garage, Danny heads for his car. Steve follows behind him, big and quiet, still using all the force of his personality to project _go go go_ and _now_.

Danny's going, now, but he'll go his own way, thanks very much; it's up to Steve to decide exactly how far he'll take the alpha male, macho bullshit mood he's working. If he says a word about climbing into the passenger seat of Danny's car, Danny probably won't kick him in the nuts, steal the keys to his truck, and tell him he's _walking_ home, but he'll think about it. He'll think about it from the peace and quiet of his own little apartment, no Steves allowed, please and thanks very much.

Steve gets in the passenger side, no complaints.

"You are the weirdest guy I have ever met," Danny says. "Buckle your seatbelt."

"Are you gonna do that mom thing one day?" Steve asks him, twisting around to buckle his seat belt. "With the arm across my chest if we have to stop fast?"

"Probably," Danny says. "It's an instinct. Protect your enormous, hard-headed babies. Us moms, it's _all instinct_ ; that and licking our thumbs to wipe off dirty cheeks and knowing when someone's about to put something gross in their mouths. Can we stop talking about moms now?"

"You want to talk about how it makes you feel better to drive?"

Danny looks over, and Steve is looking right at him, smile on his face, all patient and interested like he actually wants to talk about Danny's feelings. He's such a fucking weirdo, this guy, this Rambo guy with all his issues; Danny bets that if he wanted to have a heart to heart, Steve would man up and go for it as fast as he'd toss himself off a cliff or run into a burning building.

"No," Danny says. "You want to talk about how it makes you feel better to be bossy?"

"Nah." Okay, so slouched in the passenger seat, legs splayed and hands loose on his thighs, looking at Danny like that, Steve isn't exactly projecting bossy. He says, "I'm not bossy," and Danny waves a hand at him, because _okay_. He's sure of himself, sure of Danny, comfortable with what's happening the same way he's comfortable with their team watching his back; it's not bossy, but somehow it works out the same way.

"You're a menace, is what you are," Danny says. "A pain in my ass, a menace, okay," but he's driving towards Steve's place, because this morning they jumped off a cliff, and this afternoon, they're crossing a line.

~~~

It's not like this whole thing is a _shock_ , exactly, is the thing. Steve hasn't been subtle. Steve has been the opposite of subtle for months. There's some screw loose in his brain, some wire crossed or something, that he looked at Danny and Danny's ties, his terrible apartment, his pictures of Grace, his Saturday afternoons and the way he gets through Tuesdays, and he said yeah, okay; yeah, sign me up.

A couple weeks ago--a Thursday, for once--the team had gone out together to celebrate the successful close of a case. Murderer apprehended, artwork located, _and_ international incident avoided; all thanks to Chin's connections, Danny's way with words, and Steve's unexpected ability to jump horses over fences.

Kono bought them drinks. Many, many drinks.

"Kono isn't allowed to get us drunk anymore," Danny had said later, weaving his way toward his front door. "She isn't, Steve. No no, this is the last time, this is it; no more drunk with Kono."

"I'm not drunk." Steve pointed out, unreasonably, in Danny's opinion. He grabbed Danny's elbow, pushed him against the door frame and braced him there with a hip, like he thought Danny wasn't capable of holding himself upright. Danny was capable of it, _more_ than capable of it. The problem was that the door wasn't capable of holding _itself_ upright, was the problem.

"That is a failing in you, not in Kono," Danny decided. He let his head loll back against the wood. Steve snorted, and then hands were digging in Danny's pockets. "My keys are in my hand," he said, and he wrapped his arm around Steve's back to jingle them helpfully close to Steve's ear. "You can--you can get your hands out of my pockets, McGarrett. I've got my keys."

"Okay," Steve said, and he straightened. His hands curled around Danny's hips, and Danny looked up at him; up and up. Steve was smiling at him, that same weird smile he always got when Danny was especially mean to him, or criminals started running, or his team scored a touchdown. "So open the door."

Danny frowned at him. "Are you trying to be sneaky?"

Steve rested more of his weight on his hip, the one keeping Danny pinned. "No?"

"No," Danny agreed. "Sneaky isn't your style. So are you, what, is this you trying to be smooth or something? Because if this is you being smooth--"

"I'm just asking if you're going to open the door," Steve said, all wounded innocence, like he was a puppy and not a trained psychopath. Danny looked at him, and looked at him, silvered in the moonlight, freakishly attractive and undeniably sober.

"I'm not asking you in," Danny decided. "I'm too, I can't even pretend I'm drunk enough to ask you in."

"Did I ask you to ask me in?" Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "No. I didn't. You just assume--"

"I don't _assume_. I'm a detective. I _solve_." Danny tapped Steve on the side with the hand holding his keys; they jangled in the dark, but Steve didn't look away. "I figure things out," Danny said. He poked Steve in the side, then laid his palm against Steve's ribs to feel them expanding as he took a deep breath. "I figure everything out; I'm figuring _you_ out."

"Yeah, okay," Steve said, with another eyeroll, like he was some obnoxious teenager--it made Danny want to punch him in the gut; it made Danny grin at him--

"You think you could figure out how to ask me to kiss you?" Steve asked, and Danny did.

Steve kissed him, one hand cupping Danny's jaw and the other on his hip, tongue slick and pushy, aggressive enough that Danny got aggressive back. In the end, he almost regretted not being drunk enough to invite Steve in but that wasn't what he wanted, what would work for them; fuck it, he hadn't been looking for this, but he didn't want to screw it up before they even got it going.

He pushed Steve away; Steve stepped back. He brushed his hand over Danny's hair and said, "See you in the morning, Danno," with his lips all pinked up from kissing. Danny said, "Yeah, good night, good night, go," and Steve grinned at him, then turned around and left, all reluctance and determination.

It had been tempting, so tempting to call him back but Danny hadn't; it wasn't good timing, and anyway, Danny had him figured out, thought he had _them_ figured out.

It wouldn't be much longer until they weren't sleeping alone.

~~~

"Would you like to ask me in?" Danny asks, parking the car.

Steve is already out of his seatbelt, out of his _seat_. He leans back into the car to smirk at Danny, says, "You're coming in."

"That is not asking," Danny says. He unbuckles, steps out of the car. Steve is waiting for him by the door, holding it open. "We've talked about this, we've done this, you know how it works. You know that isn't asking, Steve. Asking gives a person a choice, a chance to go with their own preferences. For example, I asked you if you would like to ask me in. If you had _not_ wanted to ask me in, you could have said, 'Another time, Detective Williams,' and I would have said, 'Okay,' and _that_ would have been--"

"Did I ask you to keep flapping your jaw?"

"I'll tell you what you're asking for now, McGarrett--"

"Danno," Steve says, hand on Danny's neck, head tilted down so he can look Danny in the eye from up close, too close. "Would you like to come in?"

And Danny says, "Well, since you asked so nicely."

~~~

He expects maybe to ease into things; drink a beer, eat something, pretend they're just hanging out until the tension cracks things between them and they go at each other like animals.

Or maybe it's less about what he was expecting and more what he'd fantasized about, but whatever.

That isn't what happens, is the thing. What happens is that Steve barely has the door closed behind them before he's all up in Danny's space. He gets Danny pinned against the wall and fucking goes to town on him, which Danny appreciates, although he could also maybe appreciate some air.

He gets his own back; bites at Steve's mouth, fists his hands in Steve's hair, pushes his hips against Steve, which is wildly unsatisfying because Steve is nineteen feet tall, although it does feel _good_ , it's just, it's not enough.

"You've got a bed in this place," he says, tearing his mouth away. Steve bends down to suck on his neck and Danny thumps his head back against the wall, closes his eyes. The way he has to bend takes Steve's hips further away and it's just, it's so frustratingly good that Danny almost changes his mind and lets it happen like that. But no, no, they've been building towards this for too long, months; Danny doesn't want to make out standing up and fully dressed, he wants it fast and easy and _naked_ in a _bed_.

"C'mon, McGarrett," he says, using his grip on Steve's hair to pull him back. Steve makes a noise at him, annoyed, and Danny rolls his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you happy playing vampire in your hallway? That's nice, that's really nice, I'm really glad you were having a good time. Now take me to your bed, or I swear I will find myself some holy water, some garlic maybe, a stake--"

Steve is laughing at him, and damn but Danny has it bad, because that just gets him. How much Steve likes him, how much Steve enjoys just _playing_ this game they play--it feels good. Weirdly satisfying. Like Steve needs someone to rant at him about eating right and avoiding bullets and not driving like an asshole, and Danny needs someone to remind him there's more to life than Gracie, important as she is. Like they're both getting something big out of it, and Danny is stupidly, absurdly _glad_.

Steve drags him away from the wall, kisses him. He's got an arm wrapped behind Danny's neck, so that Danny's head is tipped back, supported by Steve's hard forearm, and it's good, it's so good, but one of them is going to get a crick in his neck and _die_ if they don't take this somewhere horizontal soon.

"Yeah, I've got a bed." Steve straightens and runs his hand down Danny's back, firm pressure that curves Danny into him, and they both groan, deep and pleased. "I've also got this really nice floor."

"No," Danny says. "No, no no, also? No. You've got a bed, I've got an idea--you're going to fuck me; I want you to fuck me, you're going to fuck me until it breaks you--and if you think it's happening on this floor--"

Steve kisses him again, absolutely filthy this time, all wet tongue and teeth and pressure. "Danno," he says, sounding shattered, which is fucking gratifying, "Danno, I didn't think you were the kind of girl who put out on the first date," and Danny bites him, drags Steve's lower lip between his teeth and says, "If you think this is a first date, you've got bigger problems than I realized; now _come on_ before I get fed up with this and just jerk off in your hallway and let you handle the mess."

"I'll handle your mess anytime," Steve says, leering, but he's finally on the move, finally, _finally_ , and Danny follows him with wholehearted absorption, watching his ass in those stupid pants; yeah, okay, Steve can handle his mess _anytime_.

~~~

So Danny's seen Steve naked before, or close to, but that's got nothing on watching him strip out of his stupid clothes like he was on the pro stripping league before he came home. What he's doing standing there naked, kissing Danny with some nice intense tongue work and what seems like maybe all his heart, Danny just doesn't know.

Not that Danny's a bad looker, and he knows he's a good fuck, even Rachel never had any complaints on _that_ issue, but still. The man is a work of art, and Danny almost doesn't want to muss him up, get him dirty, get him heavy and hot over Danny on the bed--

Yeah, okay, whatever. Danny strips off his own clothes and takes Steve out, gets him on the bed and pinned, gets a hand in his hair and a hand on his dick, and sets out to get him as dirty as possible.

"I believe I was promised something else here," Steve says, low and rasping in his throat. Danny bites his nipple, tugs it with his teeth until Steve pushes up against him.

"Oh, was that a promise? I didn't realize," Danny says. "I thought I was telling you what you were gonna do, and then you'd figure out a way to do it, I didn't realize I was setting myself up to be all obligated or whatever; my bad, won't happen again."

Steve is laughing at him, and then Steve is flipping him. He gets them turned over on the bed, his knees between Danny's so that Danny is spread for him, sprawled out and wanting, still bitching about the things Steve thinks are promises, and how one day they're going to get him kicked in the face.

"I'll take the risk," Steve says, kissing him again, more tender this time.

"That doesn't mean much coming from the guy who takes _all_ the risks," Danny says. He wraps his good leg around Steve's waist though--much better than trying to thrust against him in the hall--and lets the kiss gentle him, gentle them both.

It's good, too. Danny hasn't fucked around with a lot of dudes, and usually when he goes for it, the guy is built more like himself; maybe it's a narcissism thing, who knows, but Danny's always liked his men to come in low on the height curve, bulkier and stronger than average. His ladies too for that matter, Rachel being the exception, the obvious exception, and look how that turned out.

Steve breaks type too, long and lanky, strong, broad and solid between Danny's legs and heavy against his chest, but lean and perfect in an anatomically correct sort of way. It leaves Danny feeling turned on and weirdly fond of the guy at the same time. Steve works for this body, Steve thinks it's important, but Steve is also going all dark-eyed and flushed for Danny, who probably isn't his type either, unless Steve always goes for short and sarcastic. It's one of those times when Danny can't deny there's more than just surface attraction at work, which is part of the danger, but Danny follows this guy into dangerous situations once a day and seven or eight times on Tuesdays, and apparently following him into bed will be no exception.

And the rewards are ridiculous.

Steve wraps a hand around his dick and tugs, thumb swiping the head experimentally before he breaks off from kissing Danny to taste Danny's pre-come; Danny pants at him, wrecked by how dark Steve's eyes have gone, how pink his tongue is against his own tanned and callused skin.

"You go right ahead," he says, gesturing at himself. "You just feel free, lick whatever; I mean, I'd prefer your mouth on me, maybe, but if that isn't how you operate, cool, fine, do your own thing."

"I'll do your thing," Steve says, grinning, and Danny groans because how fucking lame is that, how terrible, how does Steve ever get laid, using lines like that in bed? but then Steve slithers down Danny's body, kissing and biting here and there as he goes, his hands arranging Danny's limbs the way he wants them, and okay, so that's how Steve gets laid. That and the pretty face, the gorgeous body, the good nature he can't hide although he also doesn't really seem to try.

Then Danny groans for an entirely new reason. Add blowjobs to the list of Steve's skills, maybe the top of the list, because Steve sucks cock like he shoots a gun, smooth and expert and confident like a guy who always hits his target.

It feels so good that Danny almost feels gut shot, too, like pleasure is going to kill him slow and mean. He doesn't resist it though, can't, because Steve is watching him and the guy's got a dark flush over his cheekbones and wet lips and his own hips working against the mattress a little; this is maybe as good for him as it is for Danny, and that just makes it irresistable.

Steve runs a knuckle down behind his dick, pressing in all the right spots and then against Danny's ass, questioning, teasing. Danny groans and bends his knees, says, "I already told you I wanted it. I swear, I have to tell you everything like eight times, what is that about," and Steve doesn't pull off to answer him, but his eyes are hot and amused, and then the tip of his thumb is pressing inside Danny, not slick enough but it almost doesn't matter. Danny's all twisted up with wanting it.

"If I have to tell you again, I'm just gonna get up and go home," he threatens, voice a growl he almost doesn't recognize, and Steve pulls off with some absolutely beautiful suction to say, "Don't worry, Danno, I got you."

A little shifting around and Steve's got lube and a condom in hand, has himself in hand, is pulling lazily at his dick while he kneels up and just _looks_ at Danny. Danny lets him, since it seems to be making him pretty happy and the show is worth it, but eventually he shifts, restless, and says, "I am not feeling very got, here," which makes Steve grin and kiss him.

And then the slicked fingers Steve had been using to jerk himself off are sliding inside Danny; one two and he knows what he's doing there, is there anything the guy is terrible at, "Please tell me you've got no rhythm," Danny says, and then he grunts, his hips arching up as Steve nudges against his prostate. "Tell me you can't fuck worth a damn, Steve. Come on, come on, _please_."

"Sorry Danno," Steve says, lazy, eyes focused on his work. "I'm good, can't lie about it."

_Three_ and that's it, that is absolutely it. Danny has been wanting this forever, and he's so close, too close, muscles sore from cliff diving and rough waters just shaking, adrenaline rushing all over again, Steve the most solid thing around, and Danny's had _enough_.

"Then stop bragging and _show me what you've got_ ," he snaps, twisting his hips to fuck himself on Steve's fingers, except those fingers are slipping away and oh, finally, fucking finally. Steve slides against him and Danny anchors them both with one leg wrapped around him, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Steve's sweat-slicked shoulders, and then Steve is sliding _in_.

Short, solid thrusts have both of them groaning; the last one is almost wrenching, it's so deep and so good that Danny stutters between pushing into it and pulling back, overwhelmed. He pulls Steve down instead, kisses him through it, and when Steve rolls his hips against Danny's ass, that's it, Danny is over the urge to pull back and all about opening up.

Steve wasn't bragging; he's good. He gets a rhythm going, gives Danny space to work himself over with his hand, watches Danny with this intensity that says nothing else matters, and it's exactly the fuck Danny wanted from him, even though it's better than he'd imagined.

"You're terrible at this," Danny says, panting. He works his hips and holy shit, oh, perfect. "Terrible. Seriously. Where'd you get this technique? Oh right, you're an Army boy."

Steve's sweating; Danny's sweating too, everything is heat and wetness between them, and they're both just wrecked. But Steve smiles at him, that dangerous smile he uses for getting into trouble. "Navy," he says. "But hey, sorry you're not enjoying it, I guess--maybe if I try this," and he gathers himself up, gathers Danny up, changes the angle just enough. Danny drops his head back, feels his whole body tightening. Steve grunts, a good, gut deep sound of pleasure, and _thrusts_ ; Danny says, "Oh," and some other stuff maybe, stuff that doesn't make any sense, but who gives a good goddamn when there's _this_ coming his way--

The light at the end of the tunnel is a motherfucking doozy of an orgasm, one that leaves Danny choked up and bent up and completely out of breath. Steve looks destroyed by it, is biting his lip and very still when Danny comes out of it, watching him with desperation and how did this guy ever rock the military, wearing his heart on his sleeve and in his eyes the way he does?

Danny pulls him down to kiss him, fucking Steve's mouth slow and satisfied, says, "Do it, come on, are you wimping out now?" and he rolls his hips into Steve's final, stuttered thrusts, bites his lip when Steve breaks the kiss to gasp, watches Steve's ridiculous dark eyelashes flutter and his chest flush as he takes the hit and comes.

~~~

Steve sinks down on Danny's chest, after. Danny's thighs feel a little stretched out, and Steve is heavy, but it's fine, it's good; Danny doesn't want him going anywhere. He watches Steve bliss out and feels weirdly protective, keeps a hand on the nape of Steve's neck until Steve stirs again, rising up on his elbows.

"Hey," Steve says, voice rasping a little, lower and softer than usual.

Danny rolls his eyes. "If you're about to try and sweet-talk me, you can just forget it--"

Steve leans forward and kisses him, slow and dirty, grinning. He pulls back and bites Danny's lip, looks him in the eye. He's a disaster waiting to happen, Danny thinks; this whole thing is likely to end up in gunfire and nasty language and epic fucking _disaster_ , but he can't even care. Steve is looking at him like it's all going to be fun, like he has a million bright ideas tucked away up there in that crazy head of his and they're all going to lead to _this_ one way or another, like everything will go wrong but they'll still be all right.

"Today was a good day," Steve says, and Danny runs his fingers through Steve's hair, says, "Yeah. Not bad, for a Tuesday."


End file.
